


vicious

by faguette_magique



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akekita, Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Domestic Violence, Fuck Shido, Implied Character Death, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kitaake, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Linear Narrative, Redemption, Trauma, Vampire AU, Vampires, and madarame too, i wrote this in a fit of rage, nothing explicit though, sweet sweet redemption, there's a happy ending I guess, yusuke is a vampire and akechi is a hunter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 06:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18244124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faguette_magique/pseuds/faguette_magique
Summary: Even through leather, he feels the sharp edge of the stake and wonders what it must be like to be stabbed through the heart.What a romantic way to die.





	vicious

_Wreck them all_ , Shido tells him in the dim light, caressing his cheek with hands too big, too rough. _My little killing machine._

The words send unintentional shivers down his spine, tremors that make his legs wobble as the soles of his dress shoes tap rhythmically against the cobblestone. The attache case in his left hand is weighed heavy by the responsibilities his father has bestowed so _sweetly_ , so _lovingly_ upon him.

There’s no real use in carrying it: the antivenom and stakes in his case are all for show. They’re only shown when his nose is powder-perfect and the cameras are rolling. Akechi opens it up and gives the interviewers a tour with a big, happy smile, teeth pressed a little too hard against each other at the feeling of Shido’s hand gripping too hard at his shoulder. He carries with it on hunts to follow orders: _just in case the press shows up._ The mask remains plastered on, even during the most dangerous encounters.

The real weapons are placed in his sleeves, lining his coat in every accessible position. Shido makes his assistant check the threads before every hunt, making sure they’re secured enough not to fall out but _no, not too tight,_ because Akechi’s been eating more than one measly serving of curry lately and the camera adds ten pounds.

 _The day you get killed is the day I dispose of you,_ Shido tells him with ringed fingers curled around his arms too tight.

Akechi never bothers to pull himself away.

_Pathetic._

 

The hunt tonight is in a quieter part of town, where numerous sightings and missing persons have been reported. The numbers and names lie numb in Akechi’s head, too specific, too rational. He _knows_ they’re all scum already--it’s been beaten black-and-blue into him--so the statistics don’t matter anymore. What he _does_ remember is the name of the target: Yusuke Kitagawa, an older vampire who is responsible for the death of the famed artist Ichiryusai Madarame.

 _You’re vicious,_ Shido tells him when Akechi makes his first kill. Madarame nods. _You’re just like your father._

Akechi gets to the side-street and waits. Waits for the familiarly nauseating wave of scents too alluring, too personal, too familiar. They know what he wants--they know how to sink their teeth into him sweetly enough so that he’s pretty when he gets slaughtered--and it’s absolutely disgusting. What’s worse are the endless questions placed on him by dense, unsuspecting civilians: people who want him to disclose just how tempting those scents can be, how it feels to be _seduced,_ how it feels to want and be wanted. What working as the prodegé of the city’s most admired hero. The words escape too-practiced from his lips, harmless G-rated phrases repeated incessantly in front of his bedroom mirror when he knows Shido is listening.

A soft gust of evening wind brings with it the scent of fresh bedsheets and paint. They know what Akechi wants.

 _Never give in to them_ , Shido tells him with a fist curled into Akechi’s hair. Akechi’s eyes squeeze shut.

Akechi reminds himself that he’s still breathing and lets his muscles relax against the brick wall, gloved fingers brushing at the end of the stake kept in his sleeve. Even through leather, he feels its sharp edge and wonders what it must be like to be stabbed through the heart.

What a romantic way to die.

Even through the scent of pheromones and desire in the air, Akechi also detects hesitation. Something is lurking, watching him. Hiding, but not striking. Whatever is laced in shadow is more than just a bloodsucker.

Akechi has a quota to fill. Waiting here will only give him more bruises later.

 _Do whatever it takes to win_ , Shido tells him after Akechi misses his first target, before giving him his punishment. Akechi deserves it.

There’s a knife in the pocket of his fitted dress pants. Akechi flicks it open, lets the blade glimmer in the light, and removes one glove.

The sharp feeling of metal against his palm doesn’t hurt anymore. Akechi lets the blood run down his wrist, keeping it visible in the moonlight. This should curb any hesitation quickly.

And it does.

There’s footsteps coming from the rooftop across from him. A tall, lean silhouette comes into view, and the delicious stench plaguing his nostrils grows ever-stronger.

It jumps from the roof and lands in the shadows a few meters away, but remains still.

The blood on Akechi’s wrist drips onto the cobblestone intentionally. He knows better than to ruin the fabric of his pants.

Akechi can feel a pair of eyes watching each drop fall, calculating. This one must know of the danger it faces; the lack of impulsivity in its movements is telling of its emotional control.

He’s about to flick the blade open a second time when the figure finally comes into view.

The creature is a few centimeters taller than Akechi himself, its build lean yet muscular and firm. Its hair is the color of the night sky, a deep black-blue, with the characteristic pale skin that shines too perfectly under the moon. Its eyes are a chilling gray, the color of the river on overcast winter afternoons. Akechi knows it’s hungry--the dilated pupils are a dead giveaway--but its desperation is hidden well otherwise by the way it walks slowly, approaching with delicate caution. If what he’s heard is true, this must be Yusuke Kitagawa.

It makes Akechi feel sick, the way the scent and appearance of this _thing_ \--this bloodsucking, uncivilized, _primitive_ being--is all made to deceive, to harm, to _kill_.

Still, his lips draw upwards.

“A little timid, are you?” he asks nonchalantly, voice maintaining its pleasant cadence but holding beneath it a sharpness Akechi reserves for his hunts alone.

Yusuke’s flit to Akechi’s attache case, and it stops in its tracks about a meter away. Akechi laughs, lukewarm.

“This? Don’t be silly.” With a bit too much vigor than necessary, he tosses the case to the side. The clack of metal against stone is loud, but Akechi is the only one who flinches.

 _You’re nothing but a coward,_ Shido tells him with his breath hot against Akechi’s face as the belt buckle sears another welt into his skin. Akechi flinches.

He blinks and inhales the scent of fresh sheets and paint.

“You look nothing like your father in person,” the figure finally says, its voice deep and dark enough to make the hair on the back of Akechi’s neck prickle.

The words stab into his heart like he must imagine the stake must feel like. _Nothing like your father._ The interviews, magazine articles, and radio broadcasts fast-forward in Akechi’s head.

_Goro Akechi, the second coming of the Prodigy Vampire Hunter._

_The spark of determination in your eyes is reminiscent of your father, Akechi-kun!_

_We can only hope you’ll end up as successful as Shido!_

Akechi heard him the first time, but he can’t help but feign ignorance.

“What? Say that again.”

Kitagawa clears its throat--the action so awkward in these circumstances that Akechi would call it _endearing_ if he weren’t trained to think otherwise--and speaks again.

“Shido. You don’t resemble him at all. Especially with that confused look on your face.”

Kitagawa chuckles, and Akechi curses himself for letting anything show through his disguise. _Shit._

It’s spring: the air around them isn’t particularly cold, but the occasional gusts of wind are enough to bring goosebumps to Akechi’s skin. Still, he feels an unexplainable warmth blooming from his chest, trickling down his arms and falling from his fingertips.

Akechi blames the pheromones.

“Is that so,” he muses, pretending like he’s lost in thought when he’s really just _lost._ “You’re the first to say that, you know.”

Yusuke hums, but he doesn’t sound particularly surprised.

 _Get them close enough so you can make a clean kill_ , Shido tells him when Akechi’s back is pressed against the wall. He chuckles and bile rises in Akechi’s stomach. _You can do that, can’t you_?

The wood of the stake up his sleeve is rubbing its splinters against the leather of his gloves. Akechi ignores it and extends his bleeding hand outwards, temptingly close to Kitagawa’s face.

“This is what you want, right?” he murmurs, voice softening unintentionally, perhaps from the warmth that seems to be spreading up his throat now. Akechi wants to cough it up and spit it out. “Does it smell good?”

Something in Kitagawa’s eyes darkens when he inhales. The sight makes Akechi’s fingers shake a little in their outstretched position.

Kitagawa blinks and shakes his head, still in control. “No. You’re baiting me.”

 _That’s new cologne, isn’t it_ , Shido tells him when Akechi comes back from the department store, forcing his head back. _You thought I wouldn’t notice._

Akechi inhales the scent of fresh sheets and paint and exhales restraint. Despite his instincts, the unbloodied hand reaches out of his sleeve to undo the buttons of his peacoat.

Kitagawa’s eyes narrow, but then widen when Akechi’s coat drops to the ground. The only weapon that remains on Akechi’s person is his pocket knife, which wouldn’t do much damage, if any, to a vampire.

“What are you--”

Akechi glares at him, something new igniting his consciousness and burning away the rational, complacent mask he’s been wearing for far too long.

 _Don’t fidget so much_ , Shido tells him the first time he locks the bedroom door. _It’ll only hurt more._

“I’m offering you an invitation, and you’re starving. Take it before I change my mind.”

 _Please_ , Akechi wants to say. The pain will be even worse if Kitagawa doesn’t take his offer, he’s sure of it.

The darkness in Kitagawa’s eyes seems to pull him closer to Akechi. His large hands take hold of Akechi’s wrist, pull it closer to his lips. The bruises on his arms ache from being touched, but Kitagawa’s fingertips feel cool and balmy on his skin. He doesn’t comment on how Akechi’s forearm is stained ugly purple, just inhales Akechi’s scent before letting his tongue slide up the red rivulet the blood has made, all the way to the source. The fact that Kitagawa’s mouth is _cold_ on his flesh makes something deep inside Akechi twist with a feeling he’s never experienced.

Surprisingly, Kitagawa pulls away after licking away the excess blood, despite the fact that something is clearly brewing in those stormy eyes of his. He’s closer now, though; close enough that Akechi can reach out and touch the hem of Kitagawa’s plain black v-neck once he’s done.

_The day you get killed is the day I dispose of you._

In that small moment, he realizes how perfect this situation can be.

Akechi tilts his head to the side, cool brown hair following suit. Tonight, there are no pins or products pushed through it. “Kitagawa-kun, tell me why you killed Madarame.”

Kitagawa takes a moment, evidently still riding the high from the taste of Akechi’s blood. “He hurt me” is his answer, plain and simple.

For some reason, Akechi doesn’t need him to elaborate further in order to understand. The grip he’s placed on Kitagawa’s shirt tightens, willing him ever-closer.

“And now you’re at the top of Father’s kill list,” Akechi murmurs, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. _Father_.

He feels Kitagawa hesitate, but Akechi doesn’t. The warmth in his body has reached his head now, dusting off the cobwebs of a part of his mind he hasn’t accessed in what feels like forever. “I don’t intend on hurting you. Not if you give me what we both want.”

Something clicks visibly in Kitagawa’s mind despite his obvious preoccupation with how Akechi’s blood tastes. Maybe he’s a bit smarter than Akechi had expected.

“But you’ll--”

Akechi cuts him off. “He doesn’t care if I live or die anyway.”

He doesn’t tell Kitagawa that he does all of this because he has to, because Shido gives him numbers he has to fulfill, because the belt buckle has become far too familiar of a feeling, because Shido is using him more and more in ways he shouldn’t--

His thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of cold hands grasping his own and pressing them against the brick wall. Despite Kitagawa’s capability, the touch is gentle enough for nothing to hurt.

“You can’t undo this,” Kitagawa warns, cool breath close to Akechi’s ear.

Akechi nods, arms moving to secure themselves around Kitagawa’s neck.

“I know that,” he says, his voice somewhat empty now that he’s stopped pretending. “I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t with you.”

Any other vampire just wouldn’t do. Akechi has found the best candidate to execute the plan he thought he’d only have in his dreams.

Kitagawa’s lips brush against his pulse point. Akechi lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I would never create a monster, but I would save one.”

And with the finality and carnivorousness of a true monster, Yusuke bites.

The feeling of fangs puncturing flesh, the _pain_ , is freeing. Goro’s fingers lose themselves in the fabric of Yusuke’s shirt, feeling a cold tongue lick away the warmth that escapes the wound. It’s messy and obscene and downright _carnal_ , but any semblance of Goro’s squeaky-clean, manufactured exterior has downright evaporated in the midst of their exchange.

His body is keening forward and Yusuke’s hands move just beneath the hem of his shirt to touch the small of his back, allowing their bodies to press flush against each other. Goro’s brain is filling with fog, something dark and venomous beginning to course through him. His body will change soon if he doesn’t treat the wound with antivenom, and Goro has no intention of picking up that attache case ever again.

Yusuke’s name escapes his lips, but his body and mind feel so disconnected now. There’s nothing for him to hold back, nothing for him to hide. He is baring himself to Yusuke, who is gladly drinking in _every_ part of him.

Yusuke pulls back from his neck and Goro feels tears streaking his cheeks, numbing his face in their wake. Despite how light-headed his feels, Goro’s hands are still keeping him as close as their bodies will allow.

“Don’t go,” he hears himself whisper, in a way Shido’s manufactured son would scoff at.   
Yusuke simply nods, leans in and touches his forehead to Goro’s. He’s never been this intimate with someone before, and it scares him, but the venom in his veins is keeping him in place. A promise, reassuring that his ever-present source of pain and panic will soon be destroyed.

And it’s all thanks to him.

“I want to see it happen,” Yusuke breathes, cold fingers touching his spine and causing a pleasant tingle to ripple through Goro’s torso. “He must pay.”

“And so should I,” Goro responds, not missing a beat. He knows the damage he’s caused by being a puppet for so long.

Yusuke brings his face closer, words cascading like waves over Goro’s face. “You’ll have eternity to live with what you’ve done. That is an adequate punishment.”

“ _Anything_ , as long as he’s--” Goro’s voice cracks, nothing above a whisper now. The venom stings his whole body like needle points from the inside, brings beads of cold sweat to his skin, but Yusuke’s hands are firm and unmoving. He can’t finish his sentence, but Yusuke is looking at him so intently that he knows his message has not fallen on deaf ears.

A press of lips soft as moth wings against the corner of his mouth is a silent reminder that Yusuke isn’t going anywhere.

The transformation begins surrounded by the scent of fresh sheets and paint.

 _I’m vicious,_ he tells Shido as the mattress dyes itself red. _And I’m nothing like you._

**Author's Note:**

> shido is literally the worst and i love vampire yusuke so i wrote this redemption arc for akechi because he deserves it


End file.
